


Another Love

by mayfriend



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-20 10:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayfriend/pseuds/mayfriend
Summary: There's more than one vigilante traipsing the streets of New York at night, and Kilgrave was going to run into one of them sooner or later. Who said that it had to be Jessica Jones that he encountered?“Here I am, just walking along, debating where to eat and thenbam,there you are! Performing feats of heroism! Come closer,” the man commands, “closer.” He leans forward, as if examining Matt’s features. His breath is warm and Matt can smell wine - a good vintage, a very good vintage if he’s not mistaken - from no more than an hour or so before. “Jesus,” he finally breathes, “you’re a vision and I can only see half your face. Take that mask off. Let me see your eyes.”Matt reaches up, and does just that. He feels no more exposed than he had before, even know he knows he should, even though he’d vowed he’d keep the mask on at all times when he went out at night. “Fucking hell,” the man curses, and without warning his hands are on Matt’s face, tracing his eyebrows, his temples, his cheeks, “You’re not blind?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Tom Odell song of the same name.
> 
> Kilgrave is one of the most compelling villains in the MCU, and Matt Murdock one of it's most complex heroes. I've been playing with this idea for a while now, and finally found the drive to write it. There may or may not be a continuation: I promise nothing, but I do like the idea of exploring this verse and the effects Kilgrave would have on Matt's life and Daredevil Season One.

He hears them approach, three heartbeats, but it’s still a shock when someone starts clapping. Matt stiffens, turns his head slightly to get a better sense of the group - a man in the middle, set apart by his cologne, flanked on either side by a woman wearing high heels. “Oh boy, you are something aren’t you?” The man says, his accent British and sharp. “Isn’t he something?” The flaming columns that represent the women nod their heads mutely. There’s something strange about their heartbeats, but Matt can’t quite put his finger on it. He turns, prepares to vault up the nearest fire escape before they can call the cops or draw any more attention to him, and then-

“Oh, don’t do that! Stay for a while. Come talk to us!” And then, in complete antithesis to his words of _us,_ he sends the women away with five words: _you bore me. Leave now._

Matt should be wondering how he did that, why he did it, if those women were going to tell anyone about what they’d seen - but he turns around instead. Walks forward, but only after tilting his head towards the would-be mugger to make sure he’s really out. It wouldn’t do for him to come to while there were civilians nearby. “Don’t worry about him,” the man says, “he’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Matt repeats, eased by the stranger’s certainty, “he’s fine.”

“Here I am, just walking along, debating where to eat and then _bam_ , there you are! Performing feats of heroism! Come closer,” the man commands, “closer.” He leans forward, as if examining Matt’s features. His breath is warm and Matt can smell wine - a good vintage, a _very_ good vintage if he’s not mistaken - from no more than an hour or so before. “Jesus,” he finally breathes, “you’re a vision and I can only see half your face. Take that mask off. Let me see your eyes.”

Matt reaches up, and does just that. He feels no more exposed than he had before, even know he knows he should, even though he’d vowed he’d keep the mask on at all times when he went out at night. “Fucking hell,” the man curses, and without warning his hands are on Matt’s face, tracing his eyebrows, his temples, his cheeks, “You’re not blind?”

“Ever since I was nine,” Matt says, blinking sedately.

“But then- how do you- how did you _do_ that?” The stranger’s hands are still on his face, cool against his flushed skin. “Tell me.”

“I got hazardous chemicals in my eyes when I pushed an old man out of the way of a van,” Matt explains, a little voice in the back of his head asking why he’s telling him this when he wouldn’t even have told Foggy about the accident if he hadn’t known about it already, “I lost my sight but all my remaining senses were enhanced greatly.”

“How much is greatly?” The man sounds hungry.

“Beyond anything a human should be able to sense.” Matt tells him, “I can hear the whole city, and everyone within two block’s radius’ heartbeats. I know when somebody moves because of the changes in air pressure. I can smell everything around me - the sewers, the gasoline, your cologne - and I can taste every ingredient in anything I eat.”

“Enough,” the man says hoarsely, “that’s… my god, you are incredible. And you look- how can you go around not knowing what you look like? With the lips, and the skin… and underneath it all the _power,_ just like me… although not _quite_ as good of course. And you can’t see. My god, you can’t see. I always tell them to forget, but they never _really_ do, but you… you’d never know what I look like in the first place, would you?”

Matt shakes his head placidly.

“Tell me,” the man says, finally removing his hands from Matt’s face and stepping back. Something tense and taut deep in Matt’s chest that he hadn’t been aware of loosens a touch, but he’s still hyper aware of the stranger’s growing arousal, the increased rate of his heartbeat. “Did you enjoy that? Beating those thugs?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Because she was afraid, and I heard her crying out for help, and I gave it to her. I made a difference.”

“...how _noble._ What’s your name?”

“Matt. Matt Murdock.”

“No, no, no. Your, uh, ‘superhero’ name. You must have one, dressed up like that to go hunting down evildoers”

“...I don’t.” The man makes a disappointed sound in the back of his throat, and Matt tries to think of something that will sate him. “The Russians call me the Man in the Mask.”

“Rather basic, but I see where it comes from. The Man in the Mask; although I have made that title fairly redundant now, haven’t I?” He reaches up, and pulls the mask back over Matt’s features with a surprising tenderness. It’s all Matt can do not to shiver. “There you are. All better. Alright then, Matt Murdock, how about you take me back to your place and put down your mantle for the night? I want to take you to dinner, and I can’t very well turn up with you dressed like that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait- you’re a lawyer?” Kilgrave’s voice is so surprised that Matt can’t help the smile it conjures.
> 
> “Columbia law, _summa cum laude.”_ He confirms.
> 
> “Matt Murdock, you are one of the most compelling and complex creatures on this earth,” Kilgrave announces, completely serious. Matt swallows, and focuses on buttoning his shirt. “Lawyer by day, vigilante by night. Like a character from a storybook.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well lads, it looks like the continuation is happening, but this isn't going to be a very wordy fic. Just short scenes like this one per chapter, I hope you enjoy!

It’s difficult to direct the man -  _ call me Kilgrave -  _ back to his apartment whilst making sure he’s unseen in his mask by civilians, but he manages. When he directs Kilgrave inside, he forgets to turn on the light switch and flinches when he hears the unfamiliar click of it. 

“Are you aware you live across from a great ruddy neon billboard?” Kilgrave asks him, and Matt nods.

“I got the place real cheap because of it,” he says as he walks into his bedroom, and moves to slide the door closed.

“Stop,” Kilgrave says, and he does. “You don’t need to close the door. Get changed as you normally would; you don’t feel any modesty around me.”

Matt pulls off his mask and shirt, toes off his boots and lets his trousers pool at his feet. He steps away in his boxers, and there’s that strange little voice again -  _ why are you doing this, why are you letting him see you- _

“My god,” the other man breathes, and Matt is aware that the other man can see almost everything of him, his modesty only contained his black boxer-briefs. It should bother him; it doesn’t. He goes through his usual routine of folding the clothes and pushing them to the back of his dresser without hesitation, as if having a near-stranger sitting on the end of his bed watching him do it is completely normal. He walks to the wardrobe and opens the doors, reaches out to feel the braille labels on his suits. 

“Well those are miserable,” Kilgrave announces, “you have an appalling sense of fashion, although I suppose that should be expected for a blind man.”

Matt shrugs, and pulls out the suit he’d laundered most recently, “I’m a lawyer, I need to look professional and dark colours tend to all go together-”

“Wait- you’re a  _ lawyer?”  _ Kilgrave’s voice is so surprised that Matt can’t help the smile it conjures. 

“Columbia law,  _ summa cum laude _ .” He confirms. 

“Matt Murdock, you are one of the most compelling and complex creatures on this earth,” Kilgrave announces, completely serious. Matt swallows, and focuses on buttoning his shirt. “Lawyer by day, vigilante by night. Like a character from a storybook.”

Matt bites his lip, then forces himself to stop. Kilgrave must have caught it, because his fingers are on Matt’s lips in a moment, tracing them. “I’m going to kiss you now,” the other man told him in a low voice, “and you’re going to enjoy it.”

He does. He does.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You’re quite enamoured with me,_ the other man had murmured in his ear as they’d left Matt’s building, arm in arm. He tags on _aren't you?_ once Matt’s processed the words, and Matt couldn’t stop himself from nodding slowly, certainly because _he is, he is, he is._

The restaurant is packed, but Kilgrave gets them the best table in the house anyway with a few friendly suggestions to the diners and staff alike. They don’t have braille menus but Kilgrave waves away the waitress’ apologies and says _don’t worry about it, love, I’ll order for him._

Matt would usually protest, but finds he doesn’t really want to, at least not when Kilgrave smiles at him and says _you prefer it when I order, anyway_. He’s diverted by the aromas in the air, the jasmine scented candles burning in the middle of every table, the sound of a lone violin in the corner. By the way his mouth is still swollen from the intensity of Kilgrave’s adour, by the hot fingers tracing his wrist.

“This place is home to some of the most expensive artwork you can find outside of a gallery,” Kilgrave tells him in little more than a whisper, perhaps to test his hearing, “but I can’t seem to stop looking at you. Why do you think that is, hmm?”

Despite himself, Matt feels colour rising in his cheeks. It’s the way he says it, the way he lets every word drop off his tongue like a gift, it’s-

 _(You’re quite enamoured with me,_ the other man had murmured in his ear as they’d left Matt’s building, arm in arm. He tags on _aren’t you?_ once Matt’s processed the words, and Matt couldn’t stop himself from nodding slowly, certainly, because _he is, he is, he is.)_

-the other man’s foot (his shoes are the finest Italian leather, the kind that partners at _Landman & Zack _ wore when he and Foggy were interning there) as it traces up his leg lazily. Matt smirks, and spreads his legs a little. _(You’re quite enamoured with me… aren’t you?)_ Kilgrave lets out a low whistle, round and pleased.

“You know, Mr Murdock, I’m starting to think you’ve done this before.”

Matt shrugs one shoulder up, but he smiles all the same at the teasing lilt of the other man’s voice. “Never quite like this.”

 _“Good.”_ Kilgrave says, something hungry and animalistic glinting in his eyes. “I’m different to all the others.”

“You’re different to all the others,” Matt finds himself echoing, before he realizes that he said it out loud. He finds himself ducking his head down on instinct as his date laughs, and Matt becomes hyper-aware of the fact his shoe is still brushing against his trouser leg. _(You’re quite enamoured with me… aren’t you?)_  “And what about you?” he asks, trying to even the playing field when he feels completely wrong-footed by everything about the other man, “I have no doubt you’ve done this before.”

“Yes, but…” The other man’s voice lowers, spell-binding, before he lets his foot begin to drift down Matt’s leg from where it was perched on his thigh, “you’re not like the others either.”

They’re strangers, they’ve only just met, but Matt has been listening to the _thump-thump-thump_ of Kilgrave’s heartbeat all night. It’s never once jumped or skipped, and that means he meant it when he said Matt was different to his previous conquests. Matt is surprised and not a little scared by just how much that pleases him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, Matt knows that the kiss is coming. He closes his eyes and tries to go somewhere far away, but Kilgrave’s touch feels like flames and he is burning, burning, burning. If the word is on fire, then Kilgrave is the match that set it alight. If the world is in flames, then Kilgrave is gasoline to feed the blaze.

Kilgrave leads him back to his hotel; Matt doesn’t need to see it to know it’s one of the poshest in town, the kind movie stars and singers stay in when they drop by the Big Apple. The floor is polished marble, the mattress stuffed with real goose feathers and the air alive with the high-end perfumes and colognes of previous guests.

They play a game: Kilgrave has him listen to the suites around them, tell him what the other patrons are doing with their evenings. Next door a business man is meeting his mistress after a long day; next to that a pair of well-to-do parents from Europe are scolding their children for running off without their nannies; down a floor there’s a newly married couple christening the bathroom (they’d just finished with the kitchen table) and six doors to the left a woman is having a flaming row with her agent about changing her tour dates. It’s fun, fun in a way Matt hasn’t had in a long time, ever since he started hearing the city at night and all that came with it (the guilt, the restless itch, and the devil) and Kilgrave turned it all off without a thought, just by telling him to concentrate only on what he told him to. 

“She’s saying it’s because she’s getting worn out,” Matt confides in the other man, a smile stretching his cheeks so wide it hurts, “but she’s lying. I can hear her heartbeat going bonkers whenever she denies it’s about her ex being in the same city at the same time.”

Kilgrave unexpectedly rests a hand on Matt’s chest, and it makes his mouth go dry and his stomach flip. He’s suddenly very aware of his own heart thundering along like he’s running a race. “It’s an intimate thing, to know someone’s heart,” the British man murmurs, before ripping the buttons off Matt’s shirt in a single violent movement and his hands roam lower still, skimming over his nipples and provoking a gasp. The buttons hardly make any sound at all as they fall to the thick carpeted floor. “Tell me… tell me about my heart, Matthew.”

“Strong. Calm. A little bit fast,” Matt says, tilting his head to get a better read, “but not afraid. Not once have you been afraid. It’s- unusual, to feel safe wherever you go, especially here. It’s sped up a little here and there, but not from fear. It’s going faster because you- you’re attracted to me.”

“Even a blind man could see that.” Kilgrave quips, but it falls flat as he traces the skin around Matt’s eyes. He’d had him take off his glasses midway through their meal;  _ why would you hide those lovely eyes away?  _ Matt tried to tell him what he told everyone else, that it made people uncomfortable, his sightless eyes and drifting pupils. He tried not to tell him what only Foggy knew; that it made him feel safer when there was a barrier between his greatest weakness and the outside world, like he could hide more easily. He failed on both counts. His glasses are still in the inside of Kilgrave’s blazer pocket, and Matt itches for them but knows he won’t try and retrieve them, not tonight at least.

“Tell me about your heart, Matthew,” Kilgrave breathes as he massages Matt’s chest, “is it mine?”

Matt frowns. “...no,” he says hesitantly, almost uncertain, and then more surely. “No, it isn’t.”

Kilgrave grits his teeth a little, he rubs Matt’s skin a little harder, enough that it’ll probably bruise come morning. He’s angry. “Well, I think we’d better fix that, don’t you?”

This time, Matt knows that the kiss is coming. He closes his eyes and tries to go somewhere far away, but Kilgrave’s touch feels like flames and he is burning, burning, burning. If the word is on fire, then Kilgrave is the match that set it alight. If the world is in flames, then Kilgrave is gasoline to feed the blaze.  _ You can’t fight fire with fire, Matty,  _ Stick tells him in his mind. 

_ I can’t fight this at all,  _ Matt thinks before Kilgrave tells him to stop thinking entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And where it goes from there is completely up to you.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at: [mayfriend](http://mayfriend.tumblr.com)


End file.
